


you go and i go and we go

by jadeddiva



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post 3x22, speculative fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-21 10:04:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1546808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadeddiva/pseuds/jadeddiva
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma and Killian embark on a trip to make sure that her parents meet.  Post 3x22 speculation, fake married!trope</p>
            </blockquote>





	you go and i go and we go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bemusedbicycle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bemusedbicycle/gifts).



Emma’s hand grips the compass, her vision narrows as the power rips through her and there is light, so much light -

Regina’s eyes go wide and she whispers, “Be careful-“ before the green mist flows over them (all Emma can think about before the darkness falls is how she had never seen Regina look so scared before).

…

The ground is wet. _She_ is wet.  

Emma sighs, pushes off the damp forest floor.  Sunlight is shining down sparsely through the canopy overhead, birds are singing in the distance, and from this angle the Enchanted Forest looks exactly like she always pictured a fairytale forest to be.   

Somewhere in this forest, on some road, her father will be riding through in a fancy carriage, en route to his own wedding.  And somewhere else her mother lurks, hidden in the underbrush, stealing to survive.

And somehow she and Killian have to get them together.

Emma hears a groan, turns to find Killian already standing, wiping his palms against the dark pants that he wears (it is so strange to see him dressed like this, not in his pirate leathers, but Emma knows it must be weird for him to see her in this – she looks down, surveys her own clothing – fairytale dress).

He looks over at her, smiles, and she takes a moment to really appreciate how handsome he is.

Of course, that’s before he opens his mouth.

“I could get used to this,” he tells her, swaggering over to her.  He holds both hands in front of his face and he wiggles with his fingers, clearly overjoyed at the prospect of having two hands again.  It was at Belle’s insistence that his hand be returned to him for this one mission (“a man with two hands will be far less conspicuous than a man with just one”) and Gold could never deny her anything.

Emma enjoys seeing him like this- self-assured and cocky – and realizes she’s seen less and less of the swagger in the past few weeks.  Definitely since Zelena came to town. 

Since the curse on his lips.

Before her power healed him.

Emma doesn’t want to talk about it – how her power surged through her at the thought of losing _him_ , how she managed to bring him back when they thought he was lost, how powerful her magic is – and even though Killian watches her with wary eyes, he never broaches the topic, never asks for anything more than he’s been given. 

She doesn’t understand why.

But then again, as she’s coming to realize, she may not be completely right about a lot of things regarding him or the bravado he adopts so casually all the time (memories of Neverland, his severe discomfort at being the center of her father’s praise, the way that he always sticks to the margins, never drawing attention to himself, when Zelena cursed him never making it about him - ).

(Sometimes she wishes he would make it about him, if only so she could be able to process all of these feelings building up inside of her, ready to escape.)

“You look quite lovely, Emma,” he tells her, looking her up and down once before heading through the brush, searching for the road.   She may look nice but she feels strange in these clothes.  They’re clothes that she would wear if she grew up in the Enchanted Forest, but they’re not her clothes – they’re the clothes of someone she never was and never can be, and she feels uncomfortable in them.

Emma sighs again, grabs her skirts with one hand, and follows him.

She meets up with him on the edge of the forest, right before the ground dips and becomes the road, which is wide and lacks any distinctive markings that will tell them which way to go.  She looks down at the compass still clutched in her right hand.   While it protected them from Zelena’s spell, which ripped through Storybrooke, she hopes it could actually serve its original function while here.

She’s still fuzzy on the logistics of Zelena’s curse, but Gold and Regina say that time travel has never been accomplished before (at least, not successfully) so she doesn’t know what’s happened to Storybrooke.  It could be frozen in time, everyone could be sent here, it’s all sketchy as hell.  But they all seemed very certain about one thing: Zelena wasn’t counting on the power of true love, which means that her mother and father are still out there ( _may be_ , Regina kept adding) and they need to find them.

They’ll start with David.

Killian looks both ways, frowning, before reaching into his coat and pulling out the map that Regina gave them.  He unfolds it, looking at the markings that Regina and David had made.   

“I’m guessing we’re in the forest, near the King’s Road,” he tells her, and Emma huffs because it’s obvious that they are.  But when she looks at his face, there’s a twinkle in his eyes that wasn’t there before in Storybrooke, and she can’t help but admire it.

“You like this,” she says.  “You like adventure.”

“Remember, Swan, I was a pirate for quite some time, but yes,” he says, studying the map, “a hero’s journey was always something I yearned for.”  He studies the map, brow creasing, and she studies him. 

There’s so much she doesn’t know about him, and so much she does know – how well they work together, how he always exceeds her doubts, how grateful she is that he is by her side.  She’ll learn the rest, she expects, but right now that is enough.

“Any ideas?” she asks. He looks down at her hand, and she holds out the compass, watching the needle spin before it points north.  He looks back at his map, and then at the road again.

“If we go this way,” he points to the right, “we’ll end up near your father’s kingdom.  Midas’s kingdom is in the opposite direction.  So,” he folds the map, tucks it back into his pocket, “we pick a direction.  We’ll meet with him either way, if he’s arriving home with fiancée in tow.”

Emma looks down the road.  “If he’s left for home already,” she says, but she really means _if he’s here_.  There are so many possibilities with time travel, and before they left David had sat them down and told them about his brother’s death, his own humble origins, and so she worries that maybe something will have gone wrong and his brother never died in the first place -

“We’ll find them, Emma,” Killian tells her, looking at her earnestly.  “We’ll stop Zelena once again.” 

He starts down the steep slope, and then extends his hand to help her.  She takes it. 

“I don’t know why you’re always so optimistic,” she says, lifting up her skirts with the hand that holds the compass.  She grabs his hand in hers.

It’s his left hand – the one that has always been a hook, never real, but she can feel the muscles and bones move beneath the black glove he wears, can feel the heat of his palm in hers, and she finds it difficult to let go when she makes it down to the road.   He doesn’t seem to mind - he squeezes her hand before he lets go, and she can still feel the pressure of his fingers as she wraps her arms across her chest.

“Because you can do it,” Killian tells her, looking at her earnestly.  “Your parents believed you could do this.”

His words make her feel better about herself – like they could actually do this.  Like they could actually find both of her parents and make this thing happen.

“Let’s do this.”  He looks over at her and she smiles.  “You’re right – _we_ can do this.”

Killian grins in response.  “That’s the spirit, Swan!” he says with a laugh, and she can’t help it if her smile grows wider.  Between the two of them, she’s pretty sure they can kick ass and take names in the Enchanted Forest.

…

They don’t find her father that day.  The road is long and well-traveled with people heading to her father’s kingdom, which is as good as any indication that a wedding might be in the works.  But there is no coach like her father told her about, no fallen tree and no sign of her mother.

“Maybe we went the wrong way?” she says to Killian, who looks frustrated by their lack of success as well.

“Perhaps,” he says, looking back down the road. 

When they reach the nearest town it is twilight, and Emma can’t help but feel dejected that they haven’t found who they were looking for yet.

“What if we missed them?” she asks as they walk into the town square. “What if they’ve already come and gone?”

 Killian looks around, takes in the activity, and scratches the back of his neck.

“Well, let’s do some reconnaissance, then,” he suggests.  His eyes fall on the inn.  “We need a story.”

“A story?” Emma asks.  “Like a cover story?”

“Aye, that.”  Killian turns to her, looks her up and down again.  “Am I the dashing rapscallion that absconded you on your wedding day? Perhaps a scoundrel who’s ransoming you for your dowry?”  She takes off his gloves, shoves them into the back pocket of his pants, scratching his head as he tries to consider what they should be.

Emma has an idea forming and she shakes her head to clear it, but it lodges itself in there and now she’s trapped. She almost embarrassed to suggest it.  It’s almost uncomfortable, after everything that has happened between them, and yet it makes the most sense.

“Newlyweds,” she says, “runaway newlyweds.  You stole that coat from a rich noble, and we can pawn this – “ she reaches up to grab at the jewelry she knows is in her hair – “ for a night’s stay.”

“Emma.”  Killian’s hands cover hers, and he brushes them away delicately.  He slowly removes the ornament, fingers moving careful through her hair, untangling the bauble from the strands that are wrapped around it.  “Newlyweds, eh Swan?” he asks, and she can tell from his tone of voice that he is uncertain, unsure of himself.  She can feel her face heat up – either from his proximity or the suggestion, she doesn’t know which.

“Yeah.”  She swallows, trying to ignore how close he is.  “We probably couldn’t afford more than one room anyway, and when you mention weddings, people start talking about ones they’ve been to or ones that are being planned.  So if a royal wedding is going to happen…”

“…then the town gossips will be inspired to share.”  He steps back, holds out the small tiara that he removed.  “That’s brilliant, Emma, bloody brilliant.”  There is a hint of pride in his voice, and she can’t help but respond to it, smiling bashfully and looking away from him and those ridiculous blue eyes.

She takes the tiara, chooses to look at it instead of him.  “Yeah, I guess it is.”

Except for the fact that now she’ll have to pretend to be in love with him.

The thought makes her heart race – she’s done these cons before, knows what it entails, how she’ll look lovingly at Killian and he’ll look lovingly at her, how she’ll kiss him and snuggle up next to him and normally this sort of con doesn’t bother her ( _look out for yourself and you won’t get hurt_ ) but the thought of having him so close one moment and then gone the next makes her stomach drop and she swallows, unsure of herself.

He looks at her for a moment, studying her carefully.  “Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks, and Emma nods, clearing away the concern and fear.  

“We need to do this,” she tells him, and the look that Killian gives her in return is guarded yet tense – like he’s forcing her into this.  “It was my plan and I’m fine with it,” she lies, thankful that he doesn’t have any sort of built-in lie detector like she does (and if he notices that she’s lying, he luckily doesn’t tell her).  Instead, he nods, and says with a smile, “All right, love, let’s go meet the locals.”

He reaches for her hand and she gives it willingly, allowing him to pull her into the inn behind him.

Having Killian around in the Enchanted Forest is actually a great plan.  He knows how to act the part of the young and poor groom with the borrowed clothes and the earnest expression, knows exactly what to say to charm the innkeeper’s wife and the innkeeper alike.  There is luckily one room left, and they are given it for free, the wife tearing up at the thought of Emma giving away her jewels (and Emma runs with it, her time spent on the street helping her weave a sob story about how it was her poor dead mother’s and she would want her to use it for her wedding, how they are both orphans who have nothing but each other).  She leans into Killian, allows him to wrap his arm around her and pull her close, and it’s surprisingly nice.

The patrons of the inn buy them ale, which they sip at, as they recreate their wedding multiple times and in much more detail than they had planned: Killian tells them that the ring is his own mother’s (it’s not) and they both tell stories about their lives.  Emma has a small farm with some sheep, and Killian is a blacksmith (they smile at each other between hoots and hollers from the others at the inn, who tell them to kiss and kiss and kiss again).

They do.  He kisses her forehead, she kisses his cheek, they smile shyly at each other while the crowd laughs and launches into ribald songs about virgins and wedding nights.  One time he moves, and so her lips brush against his and he jolts back suddenly, kicking the table in the process.

“Save that for the bedding, love,” he teases her, but she can see the fear in his eyes (the lingering effects of Zelena’s curse, now broken but still haunting him). 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, and Killian lets out a breath, shakes his head.

“No, it’s quite all right,” he reassures her.  “I just – “

She reaches for his hands, takes them in her own.  “I know,” she tells him with a smile, squeezing his hands in her own, grateful for when he squeezes back.

Eventually the raucous crowd drifts off, and they are able to chat with some of the nearby patrons. They talk about the area, and Killian is able to get news from them about the royal wedding next week (the king’s son is still with Midas, they will be here soon) and Emma just listens, storing away the information.

 Emma tucks herself into Killian’s side, surprised at how comfortable it feels with his hand stroking her back lightly, his voice lulling her into a feeling of safety and contentment.  They have had their ups and downs – she remembers all too well yelling that she couldn’t trust him at the boathouse just when she had told Regina mere days before that she could, remembers the fear in the pit of her stomach when she thought Zelena had killed him for resisting the curse.   Somehow between their first adventure in the Enchanted Forest and this one, she’s come to care for him a great deal (if only she would stop resisting and just recognize it, they really do make a good team).

Emma feels herself drift off to sleep, but when she opens her eyes it’s to find herself starting at the flickering flame of the candle beside her bed.  She blinks and sits up, realizing she’s still fully clothed through the cape is lying across the foot of the bed.   Killian is nowhere to be found (he must have brought her upstairs) though she hears footsteps on the stairs.  The door open quietly and Killian enters, glancing over at her on the bed, blankets in his arms.

“I managed to talk the lovely mistress of this establishment into an upgrade,” he tells her, dropping the blankets on a nearby chair.  “You dozed off down there –the men gave me quite a bit of trouble for that,” he points out, scratching the back of his neck nervously before slipping off his jacket and placing it on the back of the chair.  He reaches for the blankets.  “Toss me a pillow, would you?”

Emma grabs one from behind her before she realizes what he’s doing.  “Sleeping on the floor?” she asks, anticipating his move.

“As much as I’ve enjoyed the attention, Swan, it would be bad form to share a bed with you whilst we are looking for your parents,” he protests, and Emma shakes her head.

“Nope,” she tells him, acting without thinking much, “you’re not sleeping on the floor.” She pats the bed beside her. 

Killian looks at the bed, and looks at her, and then deposits the pillow back where she took it from.  “The floor does look rather hard after all,” he says.  He looks at her nervously, then sits down on the bed.  He slips off his boots before lying back on the pillows, hands on his chest.

“So tomorrow we should probably take it slower?” she says, and Killian laughs, sharp and clear, and responds incredulously, “Says the woman whose bed I am now in?”

She smacks his hip with her hand, huffs and shifts so that she’s further away from him.  “The floor is looking real good right now,” she tells him, and Killian lets out a sigh.

“Apologies for my rudeness, Emma.” She glances over, finds him pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers.  “It’s been quite the day – perhaps we should turn in?”

Emma nods, climbs underneath the covers.  She reaches for the candle on her bedside table and blows it out, plunging the room into darkness.   She expects to hear Killian shift, to move himself underneath the covers, but he doesn’t, and she groans.

“Are you trying to be a gentleman?” she asks.

“I’m always a gentleman,” he replies, and she shakes the covers.

“Get in,” she orders him, and there is a moment’s hesitation and she expects him to climb underneath the covers and join her, but there is only silence.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, and the moment the words leave her mouth she realizes what’s wrong.

Killian hasn’t exactly made his feelings for her clear, but all of his actions and some of his words (whatever he told Zelena, at least) have made it quite obvious that he has feelings for her.  She has not been so open about her own complicated feelings where he is concerned.  It’s cruel for her to do this to him – cruel for her to tempt him with her bed, cruel for her to badger him into compliance.

Emma feels a sharp pain in her heart at her behavior.

“It’s okay,” she says, trying to sound like everything is just fine, but then he sighs.

“Killian?” Emma asks into the darkness.  “Why haven’t you asked me about…the thing? With the well?”

(The thing with the well where he was dead and she was broken and there was magic and he had come back to her. That thing.)

She counts to five, then ten, then twenty before he responds.  “I don’t ask questions when I am not certain I want to hear the answer.”

Emma takes his words and flips them in her mind – why would he not want to know the answer?

“What do you think the answer would be?” she asks.

“I don’t know,” he says softly, “but I assumed if it was something important that you would tell me.”

 _Oh._ He hasn’t asked about her tears because he’s been waiting for her.

He’s always waiting for her – waiting for her to bring him into the conversation, waiting for her to look at him, waiting for him to tell her.  He waits for her to make the decision (save for the time when Henry when he didn’t, when he acted without talking to her, acting on impulse to protect _her_ ).

No one in her life has ever given her so much freedom and expected so little in return (and if this feeling growing inside of her, if it is love then it’s never been so simple and easy as it’s been with him when she just took a leap of faith).

“I thought you were dead, and I thought you couldn’t be dead, that if you were dead I couldn’t accept it,” Emma tells him.  “I wasn’t ready to lose you and it looked like I had and I was tired of losing everyone I cared about.  And I refused to lose you.”

She can hear him swallow, hears his breathing catch when she says it, and she reaches out for his hand.  His fingers twitch under hers, and he moves them, entwining his fingers with her own.

“Emma,” he says, and there is so much emotion in his voice that she doesn’t need to see his face to know the expression that must be on it.

Suddenly there is too much space between them, too much that she needs filled immediately.

“Get under the covers,” she says, her voice sounding harsh in the small room.  There is movement, and he slips under the covers and pulls her into his arms.  She wraps her arms around his back, angles her head so that their foreheads touch.  She feels his fingers drift up and down her spine, and she wants to smile at the way that it feels so very good, the two of them like this.  She moves her leg so that it’s between his and there is very little keeping them apart. 

Killian brushes his lips against her forehead and just holds her, saying nothing for a very long time, fingers brushing against her back.  It is the safest and most secure she has felt in ages, and of course it’s with him.

(When he does say something, she thinks it’s her name, but it’s from a distance, sleep pulling her down, his arms keeping her anchored here, and it is the best sleep she’s had in ages).

Emma wakes to soft snores in her ear, a strong form against her back, and it takes a moment before it all returns to her – the sharing a bed, her confession, the cuddling.  Killian’s left arm rests against her side, his hand on her hip, pulling her against him and she allows him to hold her, allows herself to wake up slowly to this (she doesn’t know if they’ll have a moment like this again with what they’re trying to do).

She turns in his arms so that she is facing him and her movement seems to wake him.  He pulls her closer, pressing her against him, and this time instead of kissing her forehead, _she_ brushes a small kiss across his lips.  They part at the contact and his eyes open, pupils wide then contracting, a smile slowly making its way across his face and she can’t help but mirror it.

“A man could get used to this,” he tells her.  He moves, and nips at her lips, and she opens them to him, allowing him to pull her closer, draw her in deeper, hands moving to explore her back, come up her side, until he can caress her face.

Her stomach growls at that moment and when they part he laughs, and his eyes seem lighter when he looks at her.

“Breakfast, then,” he says, sitting up in bed.   Emma takes a moment to watch him lean over and grab his shoes, appreciating the fact that he is here with her.   He stands up, turns to face her, and he raises an eyebrow.

“Breakfast, Swan,” he repeats, “and then we’re off to find your parents.”  He reaches for his jacket, slides it on.  “I for one cannot wait to see what sort of prat your father was – “

She throws a pillow at him.

“You love it,” he teases her, and she grins.

“You know I do,” she tells him, and his expression changes (just enough that they leave later than they planned, spending the morning tangled up in each other and the sheets and it’s too fast and fast enough, the press of their bodies together, the way that he sighs her name and she arches underneath him and her hunger can wait because she is hungry for _him_ ).

They find her father that afternoon, and her mother, and when she watches them snap at each other Emma just holds Killian’s hand tighter.  


End file.
